Musings
by Nymfaea
Summary: Harry muses about Sirius and his parents after the DoM battle...


**Disclaimer: I disclaim. **

Harry Potter stared at the dark ceiling of his dormitory, as he had been doing for goodness knows since when now. His roommates had long since gone to bed, but he had been lying awake turning over the events of the past night in his mind. Looking back, he realised that he had been foolish to think that Sirius would have left the safety of Grimmauld Place, however much he hated being cooped up in the dreary house. _But Sirius did leave, remember, to rescue you... Can I forget?_ He thought miserably. It was his fault, all his fault, that Sirius died last night. It was all because of his love of _acting the hero_, as Hermione had said. Harry felt ashamed of himself. If only he hadn't believed that dream. If only he had listened to Hermione. If only he had not lost his head. If only he hadn't picked up that damn prophecy...

The prophecy. Yet another reason to hate his life. Really, sometimes he couldn't believe his bad luck. _I mean, how bad can a person's life get?_ _Either must die at the hand of the other? I can't even decide who gets to kill me. _Kill or be killed, that was his destiny. How wonderful. _Rita Skeeter would flip, _he thought grimly. He sincerely hoped she never found out.

Harry sighed and buried his face in his pillow. Sirius had offered him a home, he remembered. He had given Harry a chance to live with him. _Wonder what it would've been like if I had lived with Sirius, _he mused. Then Harry realised that Dumbledore would have most likely not allowed him to do so, because of the blood magic in Privet Drive. _Bloody Dumbledore._

Harry sighed deeply again and sat up on his bed. He wouldn't have got any sleep anyways, so he took out his photo album. _A broken man's best friend, _he thought with a wry smile. It opened naturally to the Potters' wedding. The only photograph he had that showed the three people that loved him most, and all three were dead.

His father... there had been a time when Harry had considered his father to be perfect. Then he had seen Snape's memory of him, and that had changed his idea of James Potter drastically. How the fifteen-year-old bully who hexed others for the fun of it, the courageous husband who fought for his wife and son's lives and the kind father who directed him in the graveyard could be the same person, he did not know. The only conclusions he could come to were that either they were different people, or that they were one person who had changed his character for the better. He preferred to believe in the latter option.

His gaze shifted to his mother Lily, beaming up at him from her happy position in her husband and best friend's arms. For a time, he had been puzzled as to how his mother could have fallen in love with his father, but he was now clear. _She looks so beautiful, _he thought. _I would've been proud to have her for a mother. Scratch that. I am proud to have her for a mother. _He suddenly became aware of a lone tear trickling down his cheek, tentatively followed by another, then another. He wiped them away hurriedly, for fear of his roommates waking up. If he was going to cry, a dormitory full of sleeping boys wasn't the right place to do it. But he didn't think he could restrain himself either, so he slipped on his dressing gown, donned the Invisibility Cloak and descended the stairs from his dormitory. The common room was cold, the fire having died out long ago, so he opened the portrait hole and walked out, even though it was unlikely that the rest of the castle was any warmer.

He finally stopped at a secluded part of the lake (he could see a two students snogging on the other side), flung himself down on the grass and took off the Cloak. Suddenly he realised that he was still clutching the album in his hands, opened to the same photograph. As he looked down at it, his heart skipped a beat as his eyes fell on the one person of whose thoughts he'd been trying to avoid: Sirius. His godfather. The person who had done everything for him, from babysitting him to giving his life for him. Harry had hoped to live with him someday, but that could never be possible now. _I didn't even get a chance to show him how much I love him,_ thought Harry sadly. He still couldn't believe it was real, that Sirius Black was really dead. "_Why? Why did you have to die, Sirius? Why not someone else? Why you? Why did you leave me here without you?" _Harry whispered desperately. He noticed that tears were rolling down his face again, and this time he made no effort to stop them. Better out than in, as Hagrid had said. He released the tears from his eyes for the first time in years, and didn't stop for a long time.

Harry didn't know what time it was when he finally regained some control over himself. He lay on his back, reflecting on past events, but now with a clearer mind. Looking back, he understood that the blame for Sirius' death did not rest solely upon his shoulders. Yes, he had played a role, albeit unknowingly, in his death, but he was not going to be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole, to quote Dumbledore. Upon reflection, he saw that it all came back to Voldemort. Voldemort killed his parents. Bellatrix Lestrange, who worked for Voldemort, killed Sirius. Wormtail killed Cedric, upon Voldemort's orders. It was like cause and effect. Voldemort, not Harry, was the cause, and their deaths the effect. It had happened to so many people in the First War, and would, inevitably, happen in the Second War too, however much they hoped against it.

Harry stood and stared up at the gloomy dark sky that reflected his mood so well.His gaze fell upon a bright star that stood out among the others. _Sirius. The Dog Star._

**A/N: Short, I know. Reviews, please? And I don't know if you can really see Sirius in the sky, not all that interested in Astronomy, but could someone** **please tell** **me if you can?**


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